Discretion
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: Boromir travels to Dol Amroth one Yule to seek tutoring in a very important subject from his former Armsmaster Andrahar. Warning: explicit slash.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note--This is a belated birthday prezzie for Soledad, President Emeritus of the Dirty Old Ladies' Club, and Andrahar's biggest fan. Thanks also to E.W. and Miryam, who both egged me on. 

December 3006--

Boromir pulled on his boots, finished fastening his breeches, and looked at the girl on the bed.

"Are you well, lady?" She looked surprised at the inquiry, though she had not been entirely unable to disguise some uncomfortable squirming. There were bruises coming up on her shoulders and arms, from where he had grasped her during their congress, and he suspected she was bruised in other areas as well. He was not one to hit or abuse a woman intentionally, but he had taken her with far more force than he suspected she appreciated.

"I am well, my lord. You are a stallion, a bull, a--"

Boromir sighed impatiently, and interrupted her. "--I know, I know. Spare me the list of rutting male animals I resemble." Her blue eyes watered up a bit in hurt. She was very young, and he had been one of her first customers, though not the one who had taken her maidenhead. _Perhaps, _he thought dryly, _she'll rethink her choice of profession now._

Donning his tunic, and belting it, he reached into his belt pouch, drew out five gold coins, and handed them to the wide-eyed girl.

"I have already paid your mistress. This is for you." The girl started to stammer thanks for the extremely generous tip, but he cut her off once more.

"And I paid her well, so see that she gives you a day or two off." She nodded, but said no more. He slung his cloak on, and left without another word.

"So, how was she, my lord?" the captain of his guard asked with a grin, as he joined him and the escort at the stables. "A sweet piece she looked to me."

"She was adequate."

"Just adequate?" He looked surprised. "I'd have thought she'd have been better than that."

"You fancy her so much, you can have her on the return journey. I'll even pay for it!" snapped Boromir as he swung up on his horse. "She was adequate." And therein lay the difficulty.

************

He could not determine with any surety when he first began to realize that he had a problem. Certainly, his early explorations of the feminine sex, starting at age fifteen, were as excited, enthusiastic and thorough as anyone else's. His father had even been forced to curtail those explorations by restricting him to one very discrete, very clean brothel, and informing the madam that he would pay for one visit a week, and nothing more. Denethor felt that his son's full-bore descent into carnality was affecting his training in both military and scholastic matters, but he did not wish to discourage him entirely, lest his dynastic duties suffer when the time came for him to take a wife.

As Boromir grew older, the first flush of enthusiasm faded, and his appetites became more moderate. He had certain courtesans he preferred to patronize upon a regular basis, though he would from time to time try a new girl in his bed. His reputation as a lover was quite established, and several years previously he had even seen to his younger brother's sexual initiation by giving him an evening with one of his favorites for Faramir's sixteenth birthday present.

Yet somehow, as the years passed, he began to feel that something was missing. Certainly, he was able to achieve satisfaction with women, to quiet his body's urges for a time. But even allowing for the exaggeration that men always indulged in when speaking of such matters, he began to get the impression that other men were deriving more pleasure or a different sort of pleasure from the act than he was, that they obtained an emotional connection or release that he was not experiencing. His preference for the company of soldiers began to take on a significance beyond that of mere fellowship.

Neither naive nor uneducated, Boromir eventually began to understand the nature of his problem, and he was not much pleased at the discovery. He was under considerable pressure from both his father and the Council to marry, and this realization was yet another reason in an ever-growing list that made him disinclined to take a wife. There was no desire in him to wed and sire children, only to have his wife and heirs destroyed by the Enemy, should Sauron prove victorious. Nor did he wish to cleave unto a woman and use her only as a broodmare. True, there were ladies a-plenty at court who would settle for such a sham of a marriage to find themselves in the position of power and influence the Steward's wife would wield. But he did not think he wished to ally himself in any way to a woman who was so motivated.

He began to analyze his situation. There were young men as well at the exclusive house he patronized in Minas Tirith. Studying them, he found that they did not cause him to feel any particular excitement. They were for the most part effeminate in nature, and that held no appeal for him at all. 'Twas soldiers who interested him, men of strength and power. But he could not test his theory to determine if he were truly a lover of men or not. Discrete as the house he patronized was, if he took a young man to his bed, the word would certainly get back to his father, who knew everything that passed within the seven circles of the White City. And he would not compromise his command by approaching either his captains or anyone in the rank and file.

What he needed was a captain who was a lover of men, who was not within his chain of command and whose discretion could absolutely be relied upon. And there was only one place he knew of where he could find such a man. Which was why he had wheedled long-overdue leave from his father, and was braving the early winter weather to travel to the royal seat of his mother's kindred, the city of the Swan-lords, Dol Amroth.

************

Four years had passed since Boromir had last come to the proud white city above the Bay of Belfalas, and that had been for an unhappy occasion, his Aunt Nimrien's funeral. He had been almost continuously in the field since then. Denethor had frowned upon hearing his intended destination, for he had ever been at odds with his brother-in-law Imrahil, but he could not deny that Boromir was owed the leave, nor could he refuse him the right to visit his mother's family. He did, however, give his son a large packet of reports and dispatches which he desired to be delivered to Prince Adrahil, saying that if Boromir wished to take the time to jaunt clear across Gondor, he could perform a courier's function while he did so. And after a moment's reflection, he further added that if the Heir would just take a good, appraising look at the high-born maidens of Belfalas with an eye towards taking one to wife, and report back to the Steward upon them, then he could stay through Yule. Which capitulation was certainly indicative of Denethor's increasing desperation to see his son wedded, bedded, and with an heir or two.

Boromir agreed to do so, for he always enjoyed visiting his grandfather and uncle, and the mild hardship of having to pretend to be interested in courting was preferable to spending almost three weeks riding to the coast only to turn about a few days later and have to return again through what was usually miserable early winter weather.

Dol Amroth's hospitality being without parallel in all of Gondor, but a short time passed after his arrival before his men and horses were housed and fed, and he himself settled in a princely chamber, bathed and offered clean, dry clothing. When his grooming was complete, he went back downstairs to the Prince's study, where he found a roaring fire and his mother's brother and father awaiting him with some very good brandy and welcoming smiles and embraces.

"Boromir, lad! What a pleasure! Are you staying for Yule?" Prince Adrahil's face had become more deeply lined in the time Boromir had been away, and he had lost flesh, but he stood as straight as ever, and the pure silver splendor of his hair shamed the circlet that bound his brows. He seemed as some sage out of ancient legend, which was not far from the truth--a cannier, wiser man than the Prince of Dol Amroth would be hard to find.

"Yes, Grandfather. I persuaded Father that he could do without me this year. After all, he has two sons, and one heir should suffice to oversee the festivities in Minas Tirith."

"Poor Faramir!" Imrahil said, shaking his head. "I wish he could have come as well. He never much enjoyed all that fuss." Boromir had no doubt about his uncle's sincerity--Imrahil had always been especially close to his brother. And he was glad to see that the younger Prince of Dol Amroth seemed to have almost become once more the gallant, merry man he remembered from his childhood. Imrahil's eyes were still shadowed, but he was not the devastated widower he had been.

"He may find it an improvement on Ithilien!" Boromir laughed. "'Tis a fireless camp they keep there, to avoid detection--it makes for a cheerless Sunreturn!"

"How does Faramir fare there?" his grandfather inquired.

"Very well, I think. He commands there now, and I can find no fault with him. Father, of course, is another matter." Three pairs of grey eyes exchanged knowing glances.

"Well," sighed Adrahil after a moment, "I suppose that some constancy in an ever-changing world is a good thing, though I could wish your father were consistent in some other way."

"What have you there, Boromir?" Imrahil inquired, looking at the oilskin packet his nephew had carried downstairs. Boromir handed it to him.

"Oh, reports, dispatches, things Father thought you needed to see. Nothing urgent. He decided that he might as well get one last bit of use out of me while I was on leave." Imrahil chuckled.

"And he no doubt gave you an admonition to look at the local ladies while you were here!"

"Indeed, that was the condition laid upon me if I wished to make an extended stay," Boromir admitted. "And since I wanted to spend some time in the company of my favorite relatives, I agreed to it."

"Then we will try to make it as painless as possible!" Imrahil declared. "I know, nephew, as perhaps does none other, what it is to be pressured to marry by a parent impatient for grandchildren to spoil! Why, Father once threatened to bring me before the witnesses bound and at sword's-point!" Boromir cocked an eyebrow, and Adrahil gave his son a cool and pointed look.

"Yes, I did. And I believe you were but a couple of years older than Boromir at the time, so perhaps we have no good ground to stand upon when we say Denethor is being unreasonable!"

"Very well, I will grant you that he is being the soul of patience and reason about this _one_ thing!" Imrahil declared, and the three of them laughed.

"Would you care to eat in the hall tonight, Boromir, to announce your arrival?" the ruling Prince asked his grandson. Boromir shook his shoulders out, to remove the travel kinks, and then his head.

"Could it just be the family tonight, Grandfather? I have little desire to be social. But I do desire to see how my cousins have grown."

Imrahil, who had been flicking through the Steward's packet, looked up. "You will not see all of them, unfortunately. Erchirion is at sea, though he is expected back for Yule. And Elphir is here, but he is an esquire now, and will probably have duty in the hall tonight. However, Amrothos and Lothiriel will be present."

"Goodness, how old is 'Thiri now? The last time I saw her she was little more than a babe!"

"Eight, and you'd best not mention anything about that! 'Thiri is very much aware that she is a young lady!" laughed Imrahil. "Prepare to be expected to dance with her while you are here. And she will undoubtedly want to see to your comfort--she fancies herself quite the lady of the keep!"

"Oh dear!" Boromir exclaimed with a look of mock concern. "Will I survive her ministrations?"

"I'll see to it that Tirathiel keeps her from being too much of a pest," Lothiriel's father promised him with a grin, "Though I fear I won't be able to do anything about the dancing-she will be adamant about that!"

"Then I shall try to comply with the lady's demands to the best of my ability and endeavor not to cripple her for life with my large feet!" Boromir promised, and both of his kinsmen laughed.

************

Dinner that night proved to be a bit of a trial, but not because of Lothiriel's demands. She was actually a rather charming child, Boromir thought, though he'd had no real experience with young girls. Certainly she was pretty in her pink brocade dress, her table manners were dainty, and her occasional inquiries as to whether he was enjoying a certain dish were not oppressive. Once she made an artless query as to whether he was getting enough wine, and if the quality were appropriate since "Father said you liked to drink a lot," and was immediately quelled by Lady Tirathiel with more force than Boromir thought necessary, given the minor magnitude of the offense. But as Lothiriel's feelings seemed more injured by her grandfather's and father's laughter than Tirathiel's reprimand, in the end the Captain-General decided that the legendary Iron Lady of Dol Amroth must not have been too harsh after all.

No, the excitement of the evening was provided by Imrahil's youngest son Amrothos, one of the oddest children Boromir had ever known. Small for his eleven years, and slight and pale, he'd brought a book to the table, which his father had removed from his hand before permitting him to eat. Then, after the briefest greeting to his cousin that politeness would allow, he had lapsed into what would have been seen as deep thought in an older person, and was silent after that, though he consumed his food with the typical ravenous appetite of a growing boy.

These profound thoughts were apparently centered around the hibernation habits of serpents. He had secreted a small dormant one in his belt pouch, endeavoring to determine if he could awaken it by close proximity to body heat and the warmer interior air of the castle. His experiment proved successful halfway through the meal, when a small head with a flicking, forked tongue insinuated itself onto the brocaded table cloth at the exact moment one of the kitchen maids was bringing in a tasty seafood stew. With a shriek, the maid hurled the tureen into the air, and the meal came to an ignominious, early end as the royal house of Dol Amroth and their exalted guest were covered with a nice warm red sauce and bits of mollusk and shrimp.

Tirathiel icily commanded Amrothos to remove the serpent immediately from the precincts of the castle as she tried to find a dignified way to pick seafood from her hair, while Prince Adrahil had to forcibly restrain his granddaughter, who was most wroth at the ruination of her favorite gown and shrieked promises of retribution at her brother.

"You....you weird, unnatural......_thing_, you! You varlet! You serpent-lover! Just you wait! I'll ruin something of yours! I'll destroy _all_ of your stupid experiments!"

Imrahil contributed no useful effort at all to the proceedings, merely laughing till tears made silver tracks through the sauce on his cheeks, and shrugging apologetically at his nephew. Boromir, who recollected the warmth and closeness he'd experienced here in his youth, found things gratifyingly much as he remembered, even without his Aunt Nimrien, and felt the evening to be quite a success.

************

Enjoying the all-too-rare luxury of sleeping in, Boromir did not go in search of the object of his journey until mid-morning, close to the end of morning arms-practice. He found Andrahar upon the practice field, drilling one of the esquires individually, while the other Swan Knights oversaw the rest of the class. Moving closer to the side of the field where Andrahar and his pupil sparred, he watched the bout with interest, for he suspected he knew what was happening. From time to time, the Armsmaster would find an esquire he felt had a decided talent for the blade, and spend additional time teaching him. Judging by the prowess this very young man displayed, he was such a one.

Andrahar, who rarely missed anything, flicked his eyes quickly in Boromir's direction as acknowledgment that he'd seen him, his strong-featured, hawkish face expressionless, his attention immediately returning to the formidable youngster before him. Quickening his pace suddenly, he found a weakness in his pupil's defenses, which the lad was barely but miraculously able to block. His sword went flying from his hand the next moment though, as he'd been unable to follow the block with another move swiftly enough.

"That's enough for one day, Liahan. Go wash up," Andrahar instructed the esquire, who bowed respectfully, giving Boromir a curious look as he departed. Eyes following Liahan's progress as he racked the practice sword and headed for the water barrel, Boromir sighed. The young man had a lithe yet coltish attractiveness to him that was very appealing.

"It is good to see you, lad," the Armsmaster said, plucking a towel from the railing that surrounded the practice field, and rubbing his neck and face with it. The Steward's son did not remember seeing the silver threads that were scattered throughout Andrahar's dark hair on his previous visit.

"And you, Uncle Andra," Boromir said with a grin, embracing his former teacher without concern about soiling his fine garments against the sweaty gambeson.

With a pleased smile, Andrahar asked, "What do you think about my latest pupil? Well, not really the latest. His family sent him here when he was eight, and I've had the making of him totally."

"It shows," the Captain-General commented. "I'd like to do a round with him."

"Come back tomorrow, and you'll be welcome to. It would be a good for him to fight someone different for a change."

"But I'm on leave!" Boromir protested, like the veriest lowly foot soldier. The Armsmaster gave him a chiding shake of the head.

"You know the rule. More than two days off the field, and you begin to lose your edge. I'll give you today and even tomorrow, but I'll want to see you on the field the day after. How long were you planning to stay? It is good to see you again." He ducked under the rail and began walking towards the water barrel, obviously expecting to be followed, but Boromir stopped him with a hand upon his arm. There was a cluster of knights and esquires about the barrel.

"Uncle Andra, I need to speak with you about something. It is why I came all this way down here."

Andrahar's eyebrow flicked upward. He gave Boromir a curious look.

"You do? About what?"

"I cannot speak of the matter here." Curiosity became concern.

"If it is so grave, Boromir, shouldn't you take it to your grandfather or Imrahil?"

"I cannot speak of this to them. Only you."

"Well, you are certainly being mysterious! I take it you would prefer this to be a private conversation?"

"Absolutely!" the Captain-General declared fervently. Andrahar's brow furrowed.

"More and more curious! If it is a matter of such urgency, will this evening be soon enough? After dinner, perhaps?"

"That would serve quite well," Boromir answered with relief. "Where shall we meet? My rooms?" Andrahar shook his head

"If you require discretion, my house would be a better choice. I'll come to your rooms this evening after dinner and take you there."

"Your house? I thought you lived in the castle."

"This is a recent development. I'll acquire some wine for us, take you to my home, and you can have this speech with me that you seem to need so desperately. The third hour after sunset, if that suits you."

"It suits me very well, Uncle."

"Very well then. Now let me go--I must needs go oversee the mounted practice today--Peloren is ill." And with a soldierly clasp of arms, the two parted company.

************

"This is Aunt Nimrien's old house!" Boromir exclaimed later that evening, very much surprised at their destination. He remembered the house from childhood visits. Lady Tirathiel had lived there for a time alone, after Nimrien had married his uncle, but then she had moved into the castle as well. He had thought it long since sold. Andrahar unlocked the door and beckoned him in.

"Yes, she willed it to me. Thought I might like a place of my own." The house was dark and cold, but he carried the lantern over to the fireplace, took a match from a cup of them there, and lit it from the lantern, lighting in turn a fire that was laid ready upon the hearth, and two lamps in sconces above it. Boromir looked about, curious. The furnishings were simple but tasteful, neither feminine nor masculine in nature. He suspected that they were much as his aunt had left them--Andrahar did not seem the sort to worry too much about such things, so long as they were functional. The place was also scrupulously clean.

There was little about, save for an armor and weapons rack, that spoke anything of its current owner's personality. Andrahar had never been one for possessions, other than the finest tools of his deadly trade that he could afford. His true home and dearest possession was the people he served, Prince Imrahil and his family, and the house reflected this. Nimrien, who had not lived in this house for decades, was a more palpable presence here than the living man who currently occupied it.

"Warm yourself up a bit," Andrahar commanded, then walked down the hall and into what Boromir remembered as a bedroom. The Captain-General could hear him moving about in there, but he soon returned, pushed a couple of high-backed chairs closer to the fire, and indicated that Boromir should seat himself. Dragging a small table closer to the fire and positioning between the chairs, he placed the wine and some pastries he'd purchased at a tavern upon it, and left again, returning this time with a couple of glasses. He poured for them both, then seated himself, watching the growing flames lick at the well-laid fuel, and picked up his glass.

"Now, Boromir, why don't you tell me what is troubling you so greatly that you had to travel all the way down here to talk to me?" 

Boromir looked across the little table at him, and swirled his wine about in his glass unhappily. Now that he had arrived at the moment of truth, he found himself at a loss for words. This man had put him on his first pony, had given him his first lessons in arms, and many others at intervals throughout the years. He had staunched Boromir's first wound, taken in arms practice when he'd dueled with live steel against Andrahar's recommendation. Throughout the years, Prince Imrahil's Armsmaster had set an unwavering standard of excellence for the Steward's son to emulate, and had been the faithful shadow and fiercest protector of the man Boromir loved best in the world after his own father.

Denethor distrusted Andrahar's Haradrim blood--Imrahil's championing of the man was probably the chiefest reason the Heir to Dol Amroth and the Steward of Gondor did not get along. But Boromir knew that Andrahar's loyalty to Imrahil, who was his sworn blood brother, was without question. And he knew that as that man's nephew, anything he told Andrahar would go to the grave with him. His hesitation was not so much because he was embarrassed to admit what he intended to speak of to the Armsmaster, but because there was the slightest possibility he could be entirely mistaken about what was rumored about Andrahar, and he did not wish to offend him.

"Boromir, if you have something to say or ask, then speak it! The hour is late and I wish to seek my bed." The Armsmaster's voice was tart, and to his consternation, the Captain-General of Gondor's army felt his cheeks heat like the veriest lad at the unfortunate images Andrahar's words conjured up. Andrahar, noticing this, cocked a heavy eyebrow. "What is troubling you, lad?" he asked a moment later in a gentler voice.

Boromir laughed, a brief, unhappy laugh. "Oh, Uncle Andra, I am not sure how even it is best to begin! I do not wish to offend you, or have you think less of me." He stopped playing with his glass and tossed some of the wine down quickly, in callous disregard of its quality. Andrahar sipped from his own glass with more respect, his dark eyes staring at the younger man over its rim curiously.

"The beginning is usually a good place to start," came his dry suggestion. Boromir nodded, sighed, set the glass down, leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared into the fire.

"Very well, then. I have come to believe that it is possible I might be a lover of men." A quick, sidelong glance at his former teacher after that statement showed no surprise upon Andrahar's face, but rather a thoughtful expression that also conveyed a certain wariness.

"Why do you believe that, and why have you come to me with this problem?" he asked after a moment's contemplation.

"I have come to you with this problem because you have never taken a wife, nor been seen in the company of women, and it is rumored that you in fact prefer your own sex, though no one seems to be able to say that for certain--you are not seen in the company of any men either. As to why I believe it--that is a longer story, and will wait until you tell me if the rumors are true. Are you a lover of men?"

"There are men who would kill you for implying such a thing about them," Andrahar said quietly, but Boromir noted there was no anger in his voice. "I, however, am not one of them. What you have heard rumored, is, in fact, the truth. I do not fancy women in the least, but Imrahil does not object to my.....preferences so long as I keep them outside the chain of command, do not take any of the esquires entrusted to me for training, and am careful. In truth, I do not desire most men either. I take my lovers only from those whose discretion I can rely upon absolutely. As the number of men who are truly inclined to take male lovers is small, and the number who are utterly trustworthy smaller still, and the number I feel attraction for even smaller yet, I do not often have lovers. Now that we have established my credentials as an expert to pass judgment upon your problem, I ask you again--why do you believe you are a lover of men? Too many nights I've spent watching you sneak back into the castle after an evening with the wenches to be easily convinced of that."

Boromir sat up, reached for one of the cheese pastries, tentatively nibbled it, found that it was very tasty, and devoured it in three appreciative bites, taking another drink of the wine afterwards.

"This is a good vintage!" he exclaimed in surprise. Andrahar gave him a ironic smile.

"About time you noticed! Your problem, Boromir?" he prompted a bit impatiently.

"It has taken me a long time to realize it," the Captain-General finally explained with a rather sheepish expression. "I find that sleeping with women does not satisfy me as it once did. I have....inappropriate thoughts about certain of the men under my command. I find them attractive in ways which are not acceptable in polite society." He frowned, obviously very troubled. "I have even found myself looking at Faramir in that way, and that certainly won't do!"

Andrahar seemed neither shocked nor surprised by this revelation. "Looking and thinking, and acting upon those thoughts are two entirely different things, lad. You would not be the first brother in all of history to be attracted to your brother or sister. Faramir has grown up and become a beautiful young man. And siblings, it seems to me, are often prone to very strong relationships of one sort or another. I have known some who absolutely hated each other," and here a shadow passed over his face, "and others, like you and your brother, or your cousins, who are extremely close. You and Faramir endured an early loss, and you have looked after him for most of his life. It is not unexpected that you might harbor such thoughts about him. So long as you never act upon them, you are not a monster, Boromir."

"I thought that you would be repulsed if I admitted such a thing." Relieved, Boromir began sipping his wine again more slowly.

"When I was a young boy, I ran wild in the streets of Umbar, stealing and selling my body to men for the coin I needed to survive. Such a childhood leaves one with very few illusions about human nature," Andrahar said matter-of-factly. Boromir gave him an astonished look. All sorts of fanciful speculation surrounded the Armsmaster's early life before he had come to Dol Amroth. It was a favorite pastime of esquires smarting under his rigorous instruction to suggest that he had been spawned in the slag pits of Mordor. But this was the first time that even Boromir, as close as he was to the house of Dol Amroth, had ever actually heard anything definite about Andrahar's childhood.

"I am sorry, Uncle Andra," he said after a moment. "I had no idea."

Andrahar's heavy black eyebrow flicked upward. "You were not supposed to. And Imrahil took me away from all of that a long time ago." Something in his tone caught Boromir's attention, and as revelations seemed to be the rule of the evening, he asked the question, unbelievable as it seemed to him.

"Where you and Uncle ever.....together in that way?" _Uncle Imrahil was ever the ladies' man before he was married, or so the stories say, _Boromir thought, _but then, so am I considered to be! Could he and Andrahar be lovers even now?_

"Only once," Andrahar said after a moment's hesitation. "We were both very young. I desired him very badly, and because he loved me, though not in that way, he agreed to make the attempt. You know Imrahil--he can deny nothing to those he loves. It was not a great success. I knew well enough how to please a man, and used every skill at my disposal to convince him that he belonged in my bed forever; but in the end, though he derived some pleasure from the act, I could tell that it had not meant the same thing to him that it had to me. He offered to try again a couple of times after that, but I knew after the first occasion that he was truly a man for women, and my pride would not permit me to take what was basically pity from him." Pain that was decades old, but still sharp, roughened his voice. "It is of no matter now. Imrahil loves me in as many ways as he can to the best of his ability, and it suffices, most of the time." He gave Boromir a piercing look. "You need not feel sorry for me."

"I wouldn't dare!" the Captain-General admitted honestly, and Andrahar actually laughed, his short, sharp bark of a laugh that was usually at someone else's expense.

"Ah well, all this maundering about what is past and done with does not aid you with your current dilemma! What is it exactly that you wish from me? If you wish me to tell you if I think that you are a lover of men, then I will say that from what you have told me, I deem it quite possible. If you would know what I think you should do about it, then my suggestion is that you find a man you can trust to bed you, and see what happens. It is the only way that you will know for certain."

Boromir nodded, finishing the rest of his glass in another impetuous gulp. "Your counsel is wise as ever it was, and it only confirms what I have felt in my own heart. I have but one more thing to ask you, Master. Would you be so kind as to bed me that I might settle my mind about the matter once and for all?"


	2. Chapter 2

Andrahar was a man who was very rarely surprised, and did not care to be. In this one thing he was much like Boromir's father. Though Boromir's request might well have been expected as a logical development of their conversation, it startled him nonetheless.

"I am old enough to be your father, Boromir!" he exclaimed with a frown.

"Ah, but the likelihood of your actually _being _my father is vanishingly small," the Captain-General responded with a grin, feeling a little more comfortable because of Andrahar's discomfiture. "And you are the only man I can trust to do this. You are not under my command, and I know that your discretion is absolute. There is a chance with anyone else I sleep with, of Father discovering it."

"There is a chance of that even with me," growled Andrahar. "Not because I would ever speak of it, but because your father has spies everywhere, even here in Dol Amroth. And if he knew I'd bedded you, the odds are good he'd have me killed."

"Don't you mean _try _to have you killed? I feel sorry for the man assigned to the attempt." The white flash of a wolfish grin answered Boromir's statement, then vanished in the next moment as he continued. "But I can understand why you would be concerned. If the possibility of my father's retribution worries you so greatly, I suppose I shall have to look elsewhere."

"Do _not_ try to play _me_, boy! I don't care for it in the least!" came Andrahar's immediate, irate response. "As if I had ever feared your father!"

"Then why did you bring the subject up in the first place?" Boromir countered, pouring himself another glass of wine, and raising it to his lips. There was silence for a moment, as Andrahar seethed furiously. The Steward's son could feel the anger pouring off of him. Then he mastered himself.

"You've gotten clever as you've grown," he said at last, eyes hooded as he sipped his own wine. "Are you certain that this is what you want?" Boromir nodded.

"Father and the Council are pressing me hard to take a wife. I do not wish to do that until this matter is resolved one way or another."

"That is sensible of you. And in truth, it would not be an onerous task, for you are grown very fair indeed....." There was suddenly something in Andrahar's fathomless gaze that Boromir had never felt before, a sensual speculation that caused his cheeks to flush and heart to pound for the second time that evening. "Stand up." The Captain-General did so almost automatically, years of obedience to this man ingrained his being. The Armsmaster then gestured him to stand before him. "Kneel," he commanded, once Boromir had done so. His former pupil did slowly, and a bit shakily. Andrahar leaned forward, and took his face between his hands, callused thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. He looked deeply into Boromir's eyes.

"If we do this, then you put yourself in my hands, and do as I say, for I am your master in this as well as swordplay. Do you agree?" Boromir nodded.

"Yes, Uncle." The Armsmaster grimaced.

"And my first command to you is to stop addressing me thusly, at least for the evening! I am, as you have noted, no blood kin of yours, and when you name me so, even in affection, it gives an incestuous flavor to the proceedings that I find distasteful. You have my permission to address me by name."

"Very well......Andrahar," Boromir responded slowly, trying it out. A gentle pat of approval landed upon one cheek.

"That is better. Now up with you, lad. The bedroom should be warm enough by now."

************

The bedroom had in fact warmed up nicely. Andrahar had apparently lit the fire there in his earlier wanderings through the house, and a lamp upon the table next to the bed. He carried the rest of the bottle of wine and both their glasses with him, set them on the table, then threw a couple of logs onto the fire and poked it up a bit more. He turned to find Boromir watching him, a little uneasy, and smiled that feral smile.

"Take your clothes off. I wish to have a look at you." He made no move to disrobe himself, but moved over to retrieve his wine glass, turning to watch as Boromir began to undress.

Boromir, well-accustomed to the casual nudity that happened in a military camp among men, and who was a man with great experience in matters sensual, nonetheless felt the veriest blushing boy as he removed his clothing, for usually it was he watching his partner prepare herself for whatever demands he would place upon her. Never before had the situation been reversed, had he been the object of a hot, assessing gaze. He got his outer tunic off without difficulty, but found his hands trembling as he fumbled with the ties of his shirt, and pulled it over his head. He tried to still them, to collect himself, then reddened at the realization that he was already quite erect, tightly constrained within his leather breeches. Andrahar, who must have noticed, made no comment, merely watching and sipping his wine. His eyebrow arched when the shirt came off, and he set the wine glass aside, stepping silently over to Boromir, and running an inquisitive finger over a reddish weal along his ribs on the left side.

"That is new. I don't remember it." After arms practice in hot weather, or indeed most any time save the cold of winter, it was the habit of both the knights and esquires of Dol Amroth to strip to the waist and sluice off in a water barrel provided for that purpose. And sometimes they would go down to the sea and swim all together. So Andrahar was not unfamiliar with the tall, taut body before him now. Boromir shivered a little as he brushed a ticklish spot.

"I got that a year ago, near Cair Andros. An orc, of course, but he was a canny fellow." Andrahar snorted.

"Noticed you couldn't guard worth spit with a knife, don't you mean? Didn't have your shield, did you?" Boromir reluctantly shook his head, and Andrahar frowned. "How many times do I have to tell you--you are better than your brother in most ways where arms are concerned. But he's your better in that, and with a bow, and you'd do well to just accept it."

"Yes, Andrahar," the Captain-General replied, seemingly chastened, but when Andrahar looked up at him (for he was several inches taller than his old teacher), he saw the amused glint in his former pupil's eyes. The Armsmaster's eyebrow flew up, and his hand reached up to slide behind Boromir's neck, fingers tangling in the chaotic mass of soft waves at his nape. The younger man jerked, startled, in resistance, but he dragged Boromir's head down and pressed his lips to Boromir's fiercely. His other hand slid down over the flat belly unerringly, to snake into the waistband of Boromir's breeches, fingertips brushing against the hardness he found there.

Boromir's lips opened in a gasp of surprise beneath his, and Andrahar used the opportunity to push his tongue deep into the suddenly yielding mouth beneath his, withdrawing his hand from inside the breeches to pop open the buttons upon the fly . The groan that sounded as Boromir was freed from the confining leather, and the unconscious shift of his hips forward into the hand Andrahar closed about his member rather than away, told the Armsmaster all he needed to know. 

"I think your question may be answered already, lad," he murmured into the taller man's ear as he ended the kiss. "Do you wish to continue?"

"Valar, yes!" gasped Boromir, dropping his head onto Andrahar's shoulder for a moment. That calloused hand, gripping him more firmly than a woman would have dared, and demanding a response from him with its confident strokes, was like nothing he had ever felt before, igniting a fire in the pit of his belly. He felt his knees go wobbly, and sagged a little more heavily onto the Armsmaster, who after a moment released him and slid the hand around to pat him upon the rump gently.

"Very well then. Off with the rest of this, and into bed with you." He stepped away from Boromir and began to remove his own clothing matter-of-factly, taking the time to fold it neatly and lay it upon a nearby chair. Boromir grinned at the sight. His uncle Imrahil was one of the most fastidious men he'd ever known and four decades of association with him, as well as Swan Knight training, had apparently made Andrahar a bit obsessive about neatness as well. The Captain-General skinned out of his breeches and stockings, purposely letting them fall where they would, and his grin broadened when Andrahar unconsciously picked them up and folded them.

The Armsmaster did realize what he was doing a moment later, and shot an annoyed glare at Boromir, who had hastily slipped under the covers. "Funny." 

Boromir chuckled, admiring Andrahar's nude form as he moved towards the bed. It was refreshing to be able to admire a male openly and in a sexual way, something he could not allow himself in public. The Armsmaster was a man of average size who seemed short only in the presence of the tall Numenorean nobles he served, and he was of middling build, but gracefully and powerfully made. He was deceptively strong for his size and extremely fast, as attested to by the fact that a lifetime spent in the career of arms had left him with relatively few scars. The worst of them was a ragged gash down his left leg, received in a desperate boarding action he had fought with Imrahil in his youth that had nearly killed both him and the Prince. It showed whitely against his bronzed flesh.

There was not an ounce of fat upon him, and his body would have done credit to a much younger man. It was also apparently as enthused about the proceedings as Boromir was, judging from the impressive display of one particular muscle. Andrahar's manner, however, was unexcited and calm as he joined Boromir to lie face-to-face with him beneath the coverlet.

"If you should change your mind about this at any point, Boromir, you have only to tell me and I will desist," he said, running a hand lightly down the Captain-General's back. Boromir frowned.

"I asked for this, and I am not one to leave something I start unfinished." Andrahar nodded his approval.

"Very well then." And the hand that slid down his back gripped the Steward's son's buttocks firmly of a sudden, drawing him close against Andrahar's body. The Armsmaster's hips flexed, rubbing hard hot muscle against Boromir's equally heated arousal. Boromir groaned, and found himself being kissed once more. When Andrahar broke the kiss off, Boromir stared at him in a fevered daze.

"How would you have this, Boromir?" he asked in the kindest voice his former pupil had ever heard him use. "Shall I be gentle?" His dark eyes boring into Boromir's were both penetrating and astute. "Or shall I not give you any choice in the matter?"

A lust such as Boromir had never known before flamed up in him at Andrahar's words, and for the first time in his life he understood what was meant by the term 'weak with desire'. Andrahar, reading the answer in his face, smiled.

"It is as I thought. So be it. Up on your knees, lad." And he gave Boromir's hip a light slap.

"I am not a lad. I am twenty-eight years old!" the Captain-General protested, only to be rewarded with another light slap.

"You are a lad compared to me! Up on your knees." Boromir complied, and awaited further instruction. He was still achingly hard from anticipation, but he felt awkward. "Rest your head on your arms if you wish, Boromir, it will make you more comfortable. And try to relax."

Boromir folded his arms and laid his head upon them, all too conscious of his rear sticking up into the air. Then Andrahar's hands touched him, and he forgot about feeling ridiculous. They nudged his thighs wider, brushed up the insides and danced lightly across the most aching part of him, making him gasp. They slid up and over and around his buttocks, squeezing them, and massaged a kink in his lower back that he didn't even know he had until it went away. He sighed, and began to relax, and felt Andrahar leave him for a moment. A drawer opened, and then the Armsmaster moved behind him once more. There was a sound of slick hands being rubbed together, then a warm, oiled palm brushed down his buttock.

"Your sheets are going to be a mess," Boromir warned.

"They always are when I have a guest," Andrahar answered, a hint of laughter in his usually gruff voice. "It does not matter. I have a very discreet lady who keeps house for me." His fingers slid deftly into the cleft of Boromir's buttocks, and the Captain-General hid his face in his arms and moaned. "This is the difficult part, Boromir. I will try to be as gentle as I can."

And Andrahar was as good as his word, proceeding slowly and carefully despite his earlier threat of rough domination. First one finger then a second pierced Boromir, working the tightly-clenched muscles until they relaxed, then probing more deeply. When he touched the most sensitive spot deep within the younger man, Boromir groaned hoarsely and spilled himself immediately, overcome by the incredible feeling. There was embarrassment in his voice when he said, "I am sorry, Andra. I did not mean to do that."

Andrahar stroked his back soothingly. "There is nothing to apologize for, and nothing to fear. I fully intend to pleasure you more than once this evening. But I can wait no longer myself. Are you ready for this?" Boromir nodded, and the Armsmaster gripped his hips.

Despite Andrahar's instructions to relax, Boromir found himself tensing as his former instructor began to push inside of him. This caused an unpleasant burning sensation, and he had to struggle to remain still. Andrahar, noting his stiff posture, paused when he was but halfway sheathed, and stroked his lower back again.

"Do you wish me to stop, Boromir?"

"No! Only--does it start to feel better? Soon?" A strained chuckle answered him.

"Oh yes! Be patient, and try to relax. If you decide that this is something you wish to do on a regular basis, you will find that it becomes easier over time." And with that, he shoved the rest of the way into Boromir, who grunted. Fully sheathed, Andrahar once again held still with what Boromir suspected was an act of supreme willpower, waiting for his partner to relax and become accustomed to the feeling of fullness. After a few moments, when matters became no worse, and the pain actually began to recede, the Captain-General did so. The Armsmaster, feeling the vise-like grip about him slacken slightly, began to move slowly and carefully, short, gentle thrusts that were little more than rocking against Boromir's hips. "Is that better?"

"Uhummmmmmm," Boromir murmured in a preoccupied manner. He was concentrating upon what would increase and intensify the suddenly enjoyable sensations he was feeling, and after a couple of moments, rocked back against his lover experimentally, only to feel an incredible burst of pleasure. Crying out softly, he began to move in time with Andrahar, who took his co-operation as a sign that he could thrust more strongly. Before long, the Captain of the Swan Knights was slamming as vigorously into his younger partner as he could have wished, and their combined cries were echoing about the quiet room. Their satisfaction occurred with a pleasing simultaneity, and when the shuddering ceased, Andrahar withdrew gently from Boromir, and flopped down onto the bed beside him. Snaking an arm about his former pupil's shoulders, he pulled him close, staring intently into his eyes.

"So--are you a lover of men or not?" Still shaken by the intensity of what had just passed between the two of them, Boromir nodded.

"I.....think I must be. And that truly complicates matters." Andrahar sighed.

"Indeed it does. It is not a life I would wish upon anyone, much less someone like yourself, who is subject to so much public scrutiny. What will you do?"

"I will not marry, I know that much. It would not be fair to the woman." The Armsmaster snorted.

"Most noblewomen do not have great expectations, Boromir. They do not expect love from an arranged marriage, merely respect and kindness. You are capable of that, and certainly of functioning with a woman in bed. I see no reason why you should not wed." The Steward's son shook his head sadly.

"What if I do not wish to live a lie? A woman in an arranged marriage may know not to have any expectations, but that does not mean she cannot be hurt or shamed. Let Faramir marry, and give Father his heirs. It may finally make Father more kindly disposed towards him."

"I think we both know how unlikely that is." Andrahar released him, sat up, and reached over to the bedside table to pour another glass of wine, which he drank from, then offered to Boromir, who drank in his turn. When he had finished, he offered the glass back to Andrahar, who refused it, whereupon the Captain-General sat it back upon the bedside table, eyeing the older man speculatively. Brushing a hand down Andrahar's arm, Boromir drew him close, and murmured in his ear.

"May I return the favor?"

To his utter astonishment, Andrahar, who was fearful of nothing he knew of, stiffened suddenly everywhere but the place that might be most entertaining. After a moment he looked up and met Boromir's eyes straightly enough, but there was regret in his voice when he spoke.

"I know that if I am to be a thorough instructor I should allow that, Boromir. But since I ceased being a lad bought by the night, or the candlemark's span, I've not permitted it. There is only one who has had that privilege."

"Uncle?" Boromir guessed, not without some sympathy. "Do you still hope that he will come to you, Andra?"

Andrahar sighed. "Your aunt has been dead for four years, and though your uncle has been most grieved and lonely, he has not come to me, though he knows that the invitation stands. And in truth, Nimrien's death did not change the sort of man your uncle is. Which is, first and foremost, a man who prefers women. No, I honestly expect him to find another wife eventually. He is actively looking, you know."

"I did not. He has not spoken of it."

"He would not. But he feels that the children do need a mother. Though he will have to look long and hard to find someone to replace Nimrien." Boromir, who had loved his book-loving, kind aunt very much, could only nod in agreement. Figuring that their time together was over, he slid away from Andrahar and started to get up and go to the washstand, only to be halted by the Armsmaster's hand upon his arm.

"I would not be adverse to taking you again, lad, though I would understand if you did not wish to let me. I have not been the most equitable of partners." Boromir smiled kindly, and moved back towards him.

"I said that I would put myself into your hands, and so I will. Consider me yours for the night." Andrahar nodded, then guided him gently back onto the bed, this time face upward, and carefully pried his strong thighs open.

"One of the more princely boons I have ever been granted," he said with a grin, his good humor restored, and bending over, set to work once more. Boromir gasped. 

************

The next morning, Boromir was awakened just after dawn by the sound of splashing water, and turned towards the noise to find Andrahar standing upon a towel and availing himself of the contents of the washbasin in a most vigorous and thorough manner. A kettle steamed upon the fire, which had been rebuilt, apparently while he slept, and steam arose from the surface of the washbasin as well.

"There's some hot water for you as well, lad," the Armsmaster said. You need to be up and about soon, if you wish to break your fast at the castle and avoid speculation." His manner was pure business, very unlike the man who had pleasured Boromir twice more before falling entwined with him into exhausted slumber. The Captain-General got up and padded over to him, taking the towel and washcloth he proffered.

"Uncle Andra," he asked, feeling the old mode of address safe enough now that intimacies were over, "are you angry with me? Or sorry that I asked you to do this?" Andrahar looked at him in genuine surprise.

"Why no, lad! Why would you think that?" He regarded his former pupil thoughtfully for a moment, then gave him a warm smile.

"Oh! I did not mean to seem cold to you, Boromir. I simply am always cautious about keeping up appearances, and I must be on the practice field in half an hour. Much as I would enjoy dallying in bed with you, the esquires are not on holiday for another two days, and I am expected. You will find, if you do in fact choose this lifestyle, that the times in which you can simply be with your partner, safely enjoying his company, are few and far between. Best become accustomed to it now." Boromir nodded, mollified, and going over to the kettle, wrapped his towel around it, lifted it off the fire and refreshed the washbasin. Andrahar, who was finished, stepped away that he might have more room, and went to a wardrobe from which he pulled clean clothing. From what Boromir could see through the open doors, there was little in the way of personal clothing--most everything his honorary uncle possessed was the blue and silver livery of the Swan Knights.

"I would like to do this again before I leave, Andra--providing you are not adverse," he said a bit tentatively. Andrahar, pulling on his breeches, smiled over at him with that sweet, gentle smile he'd used the night before.

"If you wish to sleep with me again, lad, I am certainly willing. But let's not do it here. The day after tomorrow, go you to the Fairweather in the evening. Do you remember it?" As the Fairweather had been his favorite brothel in Dol Amroth since he was a lad, Boromir had no difficulty recollecting the place. "Go cloaked and masked. I patronize them often."

"For lads?" Boromir asked, wrinkling his nose. Andrahar frowned at him.

"No! For massages. They have a man there from Far Harad that can take kinks out of you you never knew you had. You end an inch taller than when you started." Boromir chuckled, relieved.

"Do you end an inch longer as well?"

"I don't know. I've never felt the need to use that particular option," Andrahar replied loftily, and both men laughed. "Get yourself a room, and a woman, and use her at least once, then dismiss her. Just see that you save a little for me." The Captain-General's cocky grin made a sudden return, and Andrahar shook his head in disbelief. "I will come to you. The esquires will be on holiday, and there we may tarry a bit in safety." He ran his eyes appreciatively up and down Boromir's powerful form. "I must say that I look forward to it." The Steward's son ducked his head, still unused to being looked upon in such an overtly sexual manner, and applied himself to his bathing. There was some thumping about as Andrahar pulled his boots on, then the Armsmaster came over to him. Andrahar's hand reached up and caressed his cheek, and when he met his teacher's eyes, the Swan Knight smiled.

"Thank you, Boromir. That was a most enjoyable evening."

"Thank you, Andrahar. It was kind of you to indulge me in such a way."

"It was very much my pleasure, lad."

The Armsmaster picked up a comb that lay upon the washstand, applied it ruthlessly to his silver-spangled locks for a few moments, then, the picture perfect captain, gave Boromir a nod and departed.

It took Boromir somewhat longer to remove all traces of his rendezvous and return to the castle, but he caused no commentary when he did so. His uncle and grandfather assumed that he'd been out wenching, and twitted him gently about it, though in terms that the younger children present would not find objectionable. He took the jesting in good part, and braced himself to spend the day pretending to seriously examine the young ladies of the court.

************

Boromir slept with his former teacher twice more during his stay at Dol Amroth. The second time was at the Fairweather, the third at Andrahar's house again. The subsequent occasions were much more enjoyable, for he knew what to expect. The last time Andrahar, having brought him to completion once, reclined beside him tracing callused fingers gently through his hair.

"I want to try something I think that you will enjoy," he murmured quietly, "having watched how you respond. Do you trust me?" Boromir nodded, intrigued, and the next thing he knew, he was blindfolded, his hands bound to the bedstead, and his knees drawn up and spread, tied with the bedcurtain cords. It was a terrifyingly vulnerable position to be in, and tremendously exciting. He struggled a little, trying to free himself, but found that his teacher had tied him well. Once he was bound and totally helpless, Andrahar had done wicked things to taunt and tease him, bringing him to the brink repeatedly till he was writhing and begging for release. And when the Armsmaster finally took him with nicely calculated force, Boromir had the most profound orgasm of his entire existence, biting his lip in order not to scream with the pure pleasure of it.

Andrahar had released him immediately afterwards, gathering his still-shuddering form gently into his arms and holding him close.

".....Why....why did I like that? And how did you know?" Boromir asked shakily. He could feel Andrahar's breath warm on his ear, and snuggled a little closer.

"'Tis easily enough explained," the Armsmaster murmured. "You make important decisions every day, matters of life and death. To have your power to make choices removed enables you to truly relax and enjoy yourself. 'Tis not as uncommon as you might think, Boromir."

Pupil stared at teacher curiously. "Has anyone ever done that sort of thing to you? And did you enjoy it?" Andrahar took a long moment to respond, and it seemed to Boromir, though it might have been a trick of the candlelight, that his dark eyes darkened even more, becoming deep wells of sorrowful memory.

"It is nowhere near so enjoyable when it is for real." Boromir kissed him then, consolingly, and Andrahar gave him a surprised look.

"It is not something I would wish to do every night," the Steward's son commented, and the Armsmaster nodded.

"Indeed. Its impact, and therefore its usefulness are lessened by repetition. But with a lover you trust, every once in a while......" Boromir sighed, his body having finally calmed. Rolling onto his back, he drew Andrahar up onto his shoulder.

"I do not know if I could trust anyone other than yourself to do that, Andra. But what I do know is that there are no esquires requiring your attention tomorrow, and that I intend to sleep in late. With you. Whether you like it or not."

Andrahar turned towards him, draping an arm across his broad chest. "Oh, I do not object lad, believe you me. Good night." Being an old soldier, Andrahar possessed that ability to sleep whenever and however the opportunity presented itself, and it was but a moment later that Boromir heard a very quiet snore issue forth from him. With a smile, Boromir dropped another kiss on the top of his head, then lay awake for a long while, pondering.

__

Was it merely a captain capable of discretion, or this captain in particular I came seeking? he asked himself wryly. It would certainly be of a piece with what he considered to be his ridiculous destiny, if he had been unknowingly yearning after Andra all along, and for something other than instruction in sexual matters. _After all, he is only the man Father hates most in all of Gondor. And I suspect that Uncle would not be overmuch pleased were he to learn what has passed between us. Not because of jealousy, but he might very well think that Andra had taken advantage of me. Grandfather as well would be displeased. I could not have found a more unsuitable bed-partner if I had tried--short of trotting up to Minas Morgul or Mordor and crawling into bed with a Wraith or Sauron himself! A man. A man of Haradrim blood. A man of Haradrim blood who is in love with another man who does not return his affections in that way. I must be the biggest fool in Gondor! And the Valar themselves only know what Faramir would say about this!_

But there was truly no sense in getting himself worked up over the problems inherent in a permanent relationship, for as far as he knew, Andrahar was not interested in him beyond the sexual instruction the Armsmaster had agreed to supply. And he was going to have to return to Minas Tirith in the next couple of days in any event. There was no telling when he would see Andrahar again, and even when he did, his old teacher might not be interested in taking up where they had left off. No, Andrahar had been right when he had said that being a lover of men was a lonely existence, and that Boromir should become accustomed to the idea. His advice had always been good, and the Steward's Heir finally closed his eyes resolving to follow it. Boromir's last thought before sleep claimed him was that at least the nagging question that had driven him down to Dol Amroth was now resolved--even if more unanswered questions had taken its place. And the biggest, most pressing of those new questions was: wherever could he find a man whom he could safely love?

************

February 3007--

The messenger bowed low before Boromir, who was busy with paperwork at his desk within the ruined hall at Osgiliath that was currently his headquarters.

"Dispatches, my lord, and two letters for you." 

The Captain-General sighed. He absolutely loathed this part of soldiering, and consequently tried to do it as expeditiously and correctly as possible. "Dispatches in that pile on the corner there. I'll take the letters." The man handed them to Boromir, and he smiled. "Thank you for your trouble. There is hot food and warm drink for you in the mess hall."

"Thank you, my lord!" Bowing again, the messenger departed, and Boromir examined the letters. The first was from his father. He opened it, scanned it cursorily, and sighed. There were the details of some intelligence about the Haradrim he had asked for last week, and the usual request that he check up on some shortcoming of Faramir's that had been relayed to Denethor through sources unknown. No fatherly inquiries about his health or his brother's and certainly nothing about the Steward's state of mind or body. In other words, business as usual for the House of Mardil.

With greater pleasure he opened the second letter, which was addressed in his uncle's elegant script. As he unfolded it, another, smaller sealed note fell out, which he glanced at curiously, but set aside for the moment.

Imrahil's missive was chatty and far more personal than his father's had been. The Heir to Dol Amroth wrote both of his nephews, but he corresponded more frequently with Faramir, mostly because Faramir was a better correspondent himself and actually wrote him back. Boromir was pleased to read that his cousin Erchirion, who had not arrived for Yule as expected, had come safely into port a couple of weeks late, after his ship had been blown off course by a storm. And he chuckled at the account of Princess Lothiriel's unsuccessful attempt to seek vengeance upon Amrothos. She had ventured into her older brother's room intending to destroy his experiments as she had promised, only to find all sorts of creepy, crawly things--some dead, and some very much alive--not to mention some rather nasty traps utilizing miniature siege engines and paint. She had fled shrieking in terror, and Amrothos had escaped unscathed, much to his satisfaction.

__

I hope that you enjoyed your visit with us here, the letter concluded, _and that you will be able to wheedle some more leave out of your father at some point and return to us again--perhaps in the summer? Lothiriel has all sorts of plans for your entertainment, which should inspire fear in you, and Father is, of course, always very glad to see you._

By the way, Andra asked me if he could include a note for you--that is what the enclosure is. Take care of yourself---and WRITE!

Your loving uncle,

Imrahil

Surprised, Boromir laid down his uncle's letter and took up the note, which was sealed with the sigil of the Swan Knights. Cracking the seal, he unfolded it, staring at the handwriting with some curiosity. Andrahar's hand was as elegant as Imrahil's, but stronger in the strokes, and it had a slightly foreign quality to it, as if he'd learned to write in another alphabet altogether when he was young.

Boromir--

It was good to see you at Yule. I greatly enjoyed our arms practices together, particularly the one-on-one sparring. You have grown formidable in many ways, but your knife-work is still execrable, so I had better not hear of you discarding your shield again. Learn to be patient. A new weapon sometimes takes considerable time to master, but should you have need, I will be only too glad to tutor you in any manner you require when you next return to Dol Amroth. 

Sincerely,

Andrahar,

Armsmaster of Dol Amroth

Boromir read the note once, then re-read it again after a moment's thought. A grin spread slowly over his face. _Discretion to be relied upon, indeed! _Folding the note once more, and placing it carefully in his belt pouch, he picked up a requisition form off the stack at his elbow and began to whistle.


End file.
